Black And White Without You, Sherlock
by WhyDoYouGuysTalkToMe
Summary: John Watson had a pretty ordinary life. And he was content with it. Then Sherlock Holmes came along.
1. Chapter 1 What just happened?

-oOo-

John woke to the sound of his alarm clock blaring, accompanied by the sound of his mother banging on his door.

"John Hamish Watson. If you do not get out of bed _this instant_, I will ground you until you're 30!"

Knowing this would get him to scramble out of bed, she stormed away. John could just hear the smirk on her face. John hated his mother. But he had legitimate reason for it. She was overbearing, overprotective, and a major homophobic. Not that John was homosexual, but he had had a few friends who he had brought home in the past because of a project. When John's mother had found out, she was livid. She called the school and demanded her son be kept away from "_those sinful disgusting children_"_. _So John had taken every chance he could to get out of the house and away from her. The only thing John could look forward to was going to the little café where he worked part-time. It wasn't very popular, but John thought it fit nicely in his little town. The town was very eclectic and quiet, the kind of town where everyone knew each other. The little café, _Angelo's_, was quite small. With its maroon walls and matching table cloths, it was very quaint. Many of the same people frequented it, so John knew pretty much everyone who came in.

John grumbled out of bed, squinting to see the little red numbers of the clock through the sunlight. _5:15._ Great. John hated waking up early, but since Saturday was his favorite day to work at the café, he went through it. Pulling himself into the shower, he quickly washed himself, not caring to wash with the same diligence that he normally used with his appearance. Climbing out he was met by the frigid winter air that always seemed to accumulate outside of the shower. _This day was just getting better and better. _John thought with sarcasm as he dried himself off. He glanced in the mirror, wondering if he should shave. He decided against it, figuring he had no one to impress at the tiny café.

Pulling on his favorite jumper, the tan one which brought out his eyes, he took a moment to look at himself in his tall mirror. He wasn't bad looking. He knew that. Many of his past girlfriends had told him so. He also noticed the little-too-long glances he got from men and women when they gave him their order. With his sandy blonde hair, already muscular body, and bright energetic eyes, he understood it. But John would say he was rather normal. Ordinary. Bland. Maybe this was why John couldn't hold a relationship. Girls would be interested in his looks, then when they actually spoke to him they were immediately uninterested. It was a never ending cycle.

John slung his bag over his shoulder and checked for his keys. He didn't want to make his mom drive him again. Finding them, he rushed to the door. Trying to avoid any further conversation with his mother, but failing.

"_Johnny boy_. Are you really leaving without saying goodbye to your slaving mother?" John heard his mother yell as he reached for the knob.

"No of course not _Irene._" He said without turning around. "Goodbye."

Before she could reply, John shut the door. Smirking, he ran to his car. Not quite sure why he was so anxious to get to work. Maybe today would be looking up.

-oOo-

As John pulled into the tiny space reserved for him, he beamed. He loved the look of Angelo's. It was cool. It was sleek. It was John. John felt as if a little part of him was in this place. Even though he just worked as "the kid who makes the coffee", he felt important here.

Knowing the café wasn't open for another couple hours, John didn't bother to pull on his apron yet. He pushed open the door and walked inside. The café always smelled of cinnamon. He loved it.

Walking over to his station, he started cleaning up the counters. They weren't really dirty, but he just needed something to do. He heard the tell tale chime of the bell that hung on the door. He didn't even look up.

"We don't open for another hour. Sorry," He stated, because he had to do this often.

"Well then good thing I'm not eating for two anymore, or I'd be offended."

Johns head snapped up. He knew that voice.

_Sarah._

But- she was on maternity leave and wasn't supposed to be back for another 3 months. His eyes widened as he took in his long time friend. She looked tired but happy. Her blonde hair thrown into a pony-tail messily, her clothes wrinkled. But her face was bright and beaming. John almost didn't see the baby in her arms.

"b-but...Why are you here?" John stuttered out astonished.

"What? A girl can't have a baby, then come see her best friend to show him off?" she said with a laugh. She always knew how to make John smile. They had tried to start a relationship a couple years into their friendship, but it didn't quite work out. John wasn't really attracted to her, and Sarah thought it was too strange. Sarah being 23 and John being 18, there was quite of an age difference between them, but neither seemed to care. They became the best of friends.

"Hamish."

John furrowed his brow. _Hamish? That's my middle name. _John tried to figure out what she could possibly mean. After some time, Sarah could obviously see he didn't understand.

"It's his name, my son. I named him after you, John," Sarah said, gauging John's reaction. She seemed as if she couldn't tell if he would be ecstatic or angry. He was neither. He was confused, and it took him a while to process this information.

"W-wait. You… you named him _Hamish_? After… After me? Oh my god Sarah. I'm… I'm touched. Really, truly," John jumped to kiss Hamish on the forehead, and then hug Sarah. He was truly happy. Nothing could ruin it. _Except that stupid bell. _John groaned involuntarily.

"Oh. Hey Sarah? Can we meet up for dinner later? You and Mike? We can go anywhere, but..." he gestured to the businesswoman who was waiting impatiently for John to finish his conversation. "I kind of have to get to work."

Sarah nodded, understanding. She had worked as a cashier here before she had gotten pregnant, and knew how hectic the mornings were. "Yes of course John. I'll text you with time and place?" She beamed. After John had nodded, she added an _"I love you" _before hurrying out the door. John smiled again. _I love you too, _he thought. He loved her. She was his best friend. His day had been getting better.

Going back to his station, he skillfully made each and every complicated coffee order the business people threw at him. He'd been doing this for quite sometime. He didn't have to even think anymore.

After the business rush was over, he slumped against the counter. Just because he didn't have to exercise his brain didn't mean his body didn't get a work out. His shoulder was sore from reaching up to all of those tall shelves. _Hate being short._ He thought with anger. It was true. John was only 5'7. So many of the girls he dated had to lean down to kiss him. As he ran through the number of times this had happened, he got lost in thought. He was so lost in thought, that he didn't hear the chime.

"Oi! John! Hello?" At first it was a small voice, but it grew louder with each word. Suddenly he snapped out of his trance. He looked up to see his friend- no, acquaintance- Sally Donovan. She was frequenting the café lately, needing coffee to get through forensic school. She was training to be a police officer. They had never been rude to each other, but their conversations had always been short and not very deep.

"Oh. Hey Sally." He said with a tight smile. He didn't know why, but Sally gave him this feeling that he didn't like. It felt like she had a perpetual sneer wiped on her face. A few minutes of meaningless chatter was rather boring. But then Sally said something that interested John.

"I hope _he _doesn't come in this morning."

John's head snapped up. He had no idea who she was talking about. "Who?" he was thoroughly confused.

Sally guffawed. "He was in here yesterday. Total freak. He was walking around like he owned the place. Thought he was some sort of god, and he wasn't even that cute. Like, at all. Then he opened his mouth. He talked like freaking Shakespeare. And he turned to me a pulled all of these lies out of his arse about me. He even said that Anderson and I were together. Freaking liar." She tried to make a sneer, but failed, showing John that the mystery arrogant so-called god wasn't lying. But the question was, how?

-oOo-

An hour later, after Sally was done ranting about the arrogant god, she finally left. John was tired. And it was only; he looked at the antique clock on the wall adjacent to him, 3:15. The day was rather boring, and the only thing John could look forward to was dinner with Sally and Mike, and how happy they are. Now, John was very happy for them. But sometimes, he was jealous of them and their happiness. Their love. John wanted that. But he knew that he was still young. He still had time. But he just wanted something. He felt as if there was a missing piece to his life.

He had to wait until his co-worker Anderson came to do the night shift, which started at six. This part of the day was always slow. So John sat back on the counter, ready to battle boredom.

-oOo-

When six o' clock rolled around, John just wanted to go. Anderson was not a nice person and he liked to act like he was above you. It grated on Johns nerves. So when Anderson walked in, John tried to make a hasty retreat. But Anderson wanted to talk. As always.

"Hey, has the freak come in yet?" Anderson mumbled over his coffee. John assumed he was talking about the arrogant-god Sally was ranting about earlier. He wanted to see this famous man.

"No, not that I know of," John stated with obvious signs that he wanted to go. Anderson scoffed. "You're lucky. Today's usually the day he comes in. I swear I he makes one more remark to me, I'll-"

"You'll what Anderson? Please come up with an educated response this time. I've heard them all. No, you know what? Just don't speak at all. You'll lower the IQ of the entire street."

John jumped. He hadn't even heard the chime. He'd never heard that voice before. He turned to see the speaker.

What he saw was a lot more than he had bargained for.

The man- no wait, god- that was standing before him was brilliant. Everything about him just, perfect. He wasn't looking at John, but John could feel the intensity of his steel gray glare on Anderson. His ebony curls bounced as he shook his head. His height made him seen a lot more intimidating than John could ever hope to be. A smirk found its way onto his cupid-bow mouth, and his sharp cheekbones looking even sharper- if that's possible-as a result.

Not even gratifying Anderson with any continuations of his insults; he finally looked at John, as if he hadn't even noticed him. John felt as if his eyes were stripping away all of the barriers John had spent year building up, revealing all of his secrets.

Very intimate for a man he'd met two minutes ago.

John almost fainted. His heart skipped a couple beats and he felt a slow flush crawl to his cheeks as he felt the mans eyes looking him over. _What is going on? _John looked down to hide his face from the man. The man was deadly silent as he continued to rake his eyes over John. If it was anyone else, John would have thought they were checking him out. But with this man, he felt it as something very different. _It's just a man. Stop acting as if you really care what he thinks._ But the problem was John did care what he thought of him. A man he'd met three minutes ago, and already wanted him to think nice of him. When John finally got the courage to look in his silver eyes, and he thought he saw a split second of shock in his eyes as if to say "well hello there", but it was gone as soon as it was there.

"Uh… h-hello. I'm John." John finally managed to croak out, his voice cracking at the end. What was happening to him? John was not gay. That couldn't be possible. All o the women he had dated, not possible. But the why was this man making his palms go sweaty, and butterflies flutter in his stomach?

"Hello," the man said, looking not too interested anymore. "Well Anderson. If your tiny little empty brain could put together my coffee without screwing it up, I'll leave." He said with another icy glare in Anderson's direction. He turned with a flourish of his long coat, obviously one for dramatics, and faced John. He gave John a glance then turned to sit down at the counter, obviously lost in his thoughts. John wondered what he was thinking.

"Freak. I'm not serving you anything," Anderson said with a triumphant smirk. He turned and went through the door labeled 'Employees only'. After a beat of silence, John hopped over the counter and looked expectantly at the man. If Anderson wouldn't do it, he would. The man smirked, running his hand through his hair, obviously thinking.

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

John froze. Sherlock. _Sherlock._ _Sherlock Holmes. _

_Sherlock. Sherlock. _He couldn't stop thinking the name over and over. _Sherlock Holmes. _It was a strange name; John had never heard it before. _Sherlock. Sherlock. _But it _fit._ _Holmes_. It fit this befuddling man.

Sherlock smirked knowingly. "If you're quite finished reciting my name, wouldn't you need my order?"

John felt a slow flush creep up to his cheeks. He froze, turned away from Sherlock. _How could he possibly know that?_

"It's fairly easy, if you know how to look." Sherlock stated with an almost audible smile. John had met this man five minutes ago and he was already eating out of the palm of his hand.

John didn't turn around, even though Sherlock already knew about the redness in his face. "Yes…Well… Ahem. What would you like, then?" John asked, finally turning around, able to control himself.

John saw a flash of surprise, but again it was gone. John didn't understand why, but it aggravated him. He would have to learn how to do that. Sherlock listed off a long and complicated order of coffee. John didn't skip a beat. In no more than a minute, John had the order almost finished. There was one more ingredient, the cinnamon, but to John's dismay, it was on the top shelf. The one shelf John couldn't reach. John was standing in front of the shelf, looking up, and thinking of what to do when he felt warmth against his back.

Frightened and confused, John tried to turn around. He was met with a very tall and _very_ close Sherlock Holmes. _Did he not know what personal space was?_ The nearness of Sherlock made John flush a brilliant pink. Thank god Sherlock wasn't looking at him; he was looking at the cinnamon on the top shelf. With ease, he reached up and grabbed it. Finally looking at John, he paused, reading everything on John's face. With confusion clouding his features, he handed the cinnamon to John, hopped over the counter, and hastily walked out of the door.

He didn't even take his coffee with him.

The two men walked with the same thought replaying in their head.

_What just happened?_

-oOo-


	2. Chapter 2 It was nice to meet you also

Paste your

**Authors Note: Hello lovelys! I am sosososo sorry it took me so long to update. I am just lazy. Also, I am very surprised where this story is going. It kind of took off on its own; I was up until one in the morning writing this. I felt like it was my muse that kept me just typing away. And my muse is a ****_very_**** bossy little thing. Trust me. I can actually see some of the plot forming, and there's actually a hint hidden in here. If you look hard enough, maybe you'll find it. Bye-bye lovelys. See you next chapter.**

John was confused.

John's mind seemed to be in a daze as he hopped over the counter and left without as much as a goodbye to Anderson. He had more important things to do than listen to his childish complaints about Sherlock.

_Sherlock._ There he was doing it again. _Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. _How had Sherlock known he was thinking of his name? Was he some sort of physic? Mad genius? The latter seemed probable.

John still had an hour until he met Mike and Sarah for dinner. So John went to his thinking place- A small book store around the corner from the café- and took his usual spot by the Military History section. He didn't know why he had an interest in the military. He may be thinking of joining himself, when he got the courage to do it. He knew Irene wouldn't like it, but he didn't really care. She was always so touchy when it came to the government and guns; it was the way his father had died.

John wasn't old enough to remember anything about Jim, except that he wasn't a very great person. The only time Irene had ever revealed anything about Jim was when she had come home grieving and drunk.

-oOo-

She had stumbled in the door, reeking of alcohol. She had dark makeup running down her tear stained face, making her look even paler. Her red lipstick was smeared a little on each side, and some was on her hands.

John had only been five at the time.

She had left him home on his own, leaving him with a couple toys and some milk. He hadn't understood where she was going or why she was leaving him, so he immediately started to cry. He ran around the house and tried to find her, desperate to run into her arms like he always did.

When she walked in the door, he was curled up on the floor, exhausted from all of the crying. He just looked at her through hooded lids and whispered "Momma" repeatedly. She stumbled over to him and attempted to pluck him off of the ground, to bring him to his room. What she ended up doing was falling next to him on the floor. She winced as her head hit the ground, but tried to mask it for John's sake. She reached over to stroke John's fair blonde hair, wondering if Jim had blonde hair as a child, and dyed it later in life. The thought of Jim made her body tense with the threat of sobs again. _No. _She couldn't cry in front of John.

She glanced at John, who was watching her with wonder in his eyes. She managed a small reassuring smile. He only stared back.

"I'm sorry for leaving you, baby. It won't happen again."

Nothing.

"I just had to go and think, honey."

John just stared.

"I love you, don't forget that." Irene brushed back a stray hair from John's face. Why wouldn't he talk to her? Didn't he understand how hard it was to raise him alone?

"What did you have to think about, Momma?"

Irene jumped at the sudden voice of her child. He sounded so much older than he really was. She shouldn't have left like that. She was gone for quite a long time. She just needed to think about Jim. About why she loved him so much. But how could she explain that to a five year old?

"I had to think about Daddy, honey. Daddy… wasn't very nice to Mommy. He… did things that made Mommy sad." She tried as best as she could to describe their relationship.

John looked to be mulling over this new information. "But what did Daddy do to make Mommy sad?" he questioned with a slight frown. Irene did not know how to answer this question. How to describe a man who did way too many illegal things, cheated on his girlfriend, and was killed by the British Government? The answer: Tell the truth.

"Well, honey, Daddy didn't love Mommy as much as Mommy loved Daddy. And Daddy… Well Daddy did things with other girls that he was only supposed to do with Mommy. He did lots of things that got him in trouble. He took medicine he wasn't supposed to, and he got his punishment for it." She knew it was a lot for a five year old to process, but she had to tell him sometime. And she would never have this conversation again, so he had better remember this.

"Did Daddy get put in time-out?" John asked, completely serious.

Irene let out a laugh. "No, honey, he didn't." John looked at Irene quizzically. He sat up. "Then what was his….punishment?" he took his time pronouncing the word. Irene thought over her answer carefully. She hesitated before answering.

"Well, honey, Daddy made a lot of people mad. So one time, after he had done something pretty bad, he was caught. And they hurt Daddy. They killed Daddy, because… because Daddy wasn't very nice. He tried to hurt many people. And I know you won't really get this now, but when you're older, you'll know what I mean. Do you understand?" Irene was suddenly exhausted from all of the sudden information she had dumped upon her five year old John. John slowly nodded, looking so much older than he was. He had been through so much. So had Irene. She was so tired, of everything. Of grieving, of Jim. Of being a mother. She just needed a break.

John looked back up to his mother. An unreadable expression in his eyes. His face was completely blank. No emotion. It scared her.

Irene was ready to put him to bed-not feeling the effects of the alcohol anymore- so she stood and picked him up. Laying his little blonde head on his mothers shoulder, John closed his eyes.

Irene was leaving John's bedroom, trying not to disturb him, but to no avail.

"Momma?"

Irene groaned inwardly. She was so tired. What now? She made her way back to John's bedside, and stroked his hair, trying to coax him back to sleep. John turned to look at Irene.

"Who killed Daddy, Momma?"

Irene gasped. Her eyes immediately brimmed with warm, unwelcome tears. How could she answer this? She was going to pull out some elaborate and comforting response, but none came. Only her ragged sobs broke through.

John didn't even hesitate or question. He reached up and pulled Irene's head down to his small chest. He began stroking her hair while the dry sobs racked through her body. She couldn't even stop the tears now.

"It's okay Momma. It'll all be alright. I love you. I'm here." John whispered into her hair.

They fell asleep in each others arms.

-oOo-

John woke from his stupor, still on the first page of the novel he had in his lap. Checking the time on his phone, he jumped up, rushing to put the book back. He only had twenty minutes to get to the restaurant.

Being his height, it was some trouble to hail a cab. He found himself waving frantically to get a cabbie's attention, but with no such luck. It was quite a walk to the place where he was meeting Mike and Sarah. Maybe he should just cancel and schedule another time.

Suddenly he heard a loud whistle. Whirling to see its origin, he almost slammed into the man standing behind him. Apologizing, he glanced upwards, finally noticing how close the man was to him. He was met by the all-knowing grin of none other than _Sherlock Holmes._

A cab pulled up behind John. He took no notice.

How had he found him? Was he a psychopath? A stalker? John surprisingly didn't feel immediate disgust at the idea. Why was that?

Sherlock sighed. "I am not a stalker. And I most certainly am not a psychopath. I am a highly-functioning sociopath. Now, if you're quite finished gawking at me, would you kindly get into the cab?" Sherlock finished with a flourish, gesturing to the awaiting cab, and quite irritated cabbie.

Without hesitation, John stepped awkwardly into the cab. After telling the cabbie where he needed to go, he looked back up at Sherlock, about to question his motives, only to see the amused expression in his eyes. Sherlock swooped gracefully into the cab, turning suddenly to John. He examined his face like it was an exotic creature.

Quite a few awkward coughs from John, and more than enough questioning glances from the cabbie Sherlock spoke. "You… trust me." He stated, though it didn't sound like he was saying it to John. More to himself. Sherlock turned to look ahead, but not before buckling into the middle seat of the cab, trapping John right next to him.

"Err… Sherlock you do realize there's another seat… right next to you… so you're not practically on my lap…?" John said wearily, trying to be as confident as possible. Sherlock didn't even look at him.

"Very nice deduction John. What do you want, a cookie?" Seeing the hurt flash across John's face, Sherlock's tone softened. "Is there something wrong with this?"

John was taken aback by the question. "Maybe just the fact that I barely know you, I just met you today, and now I'm sitting in a cab with you. You could be… a rapist or a kidnapper. I have no idea who you are!" John snapped. He was suddenly angry, not with Sherlock, but with himself.

Sherlock showed no emotion on his face. Just simply unbuckled his seatbelt and slid over to the seat next to him. "Better?" he asked, giving John the You're-Truly-Ridiculous look. John felt the blush on his cheeks growing and spreading like a weed. He was grateful for darkened light of the cab, so as Sherlock couldn't detect it. He nodded and Sherlock turned his icy grey gaze to the world outside the cab window.

Why had John gotten into the cab with Sherlock? Did he already trust him? He couldn't. John didn't trust easily, and he had only just met Sherlock today. The thoughts of his already trusting Sherlock were ridiculous. He dismissed them immediately. He had only gotten into the cab because he needed to get to the restaurant fast. Sherlock had nothing to do with it. _He really could be a murderer. You never know you git, and you've just gotten into a cab with him. How do you know the cabbie isn't in on it too? Seriously, John. How stupid can you be? _His subconscious screeched at him, both hands on its hips. His subconscious looked strangely like Irene. But it was only wearing a trench coat. That's it. It looked more like the Irene John had known when he was young.

While John was busy having an inner battle with himself, Sherlock was busy making a file named _John H. Watson_ in his mind palace. He filed away every detail on the young man, _every _detail. But John didn't know that.

When they finally pulled up to the restaurant, John found he didn't want to get out. He actually enjoyed the silence that had reigned in the cab. It was quite nice. _Oh stop it. _His Irene-like-subconscious scoffed at him._ You've met this man only today and already you've made a fool out of yourself three times. What is wrong with you?_ She scowled at him, twirling something that oddly looked like a riding crop. John shook his head. _What in the world?_

After paying the cabbie his fare, John climbs out of the cab, grabbing his phone from the seat. He comes around the other side and thanks Sherlock. Sherlock rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything. John pats the window space of the cab door.

"Well. It was nice meeting you, Sherlock." John says with a genuine, ear-to-ear, dazzling smile. It_ was_ nice meeting him. It was sad that John had to go.

Sherlock gives a little gasp, and then quickly covers it up by giving an awkward cough. He touches John's hand, making the poor boy's heart skip more than a few healthy beats. John's heart beat immediately speeds up and the tell-tale flush spreads across his face. Sherlock gives another attempted-hidden-gasp, and removes his hand.

"I hope to see you again, John." Sherlock states, his baritone voice even deeper than usual. John stumbles back from the cab and gives a little wave. The impatient cabbie drives away speedily.

Confusion oozing from every orifice on his body, John makes his way up the steps of the restaurant. As he's nearing the double doors, his phone vibrates. Pulling his phone out, John gasps.

_You should really learn to watch where you set your phone around a man you don't even know. –SH_

John grins from ear to ear, not even wondering how Sherlock managed to pull it all off. His phone vibrates a second time.

_Please feel free to text me anytime you wish. –SH_

John smiled for the billionth time that day. He might do just that. Another vibrate from his phone.

_By the way, it was nice meeting you also, Mr. Watson. –SH_

-oOo-

**Did you lovelys see the hint? If you did, pleasepleaseplease don't post it in the reviews. PM me and I'll tell you if you've got it or not. : ) Thank you guys so much for reading this story. It might be a while before our two friends meet again. Maybe just texts between them next chapter? You guys tell me, what would you guys like me to do? Also, would you guys like it if I wrote an Irene/Jim story that tells of this Irene's past? How Jim died? AND would you guys like me to do this story from Sherlock's perspective? Maybe just the first few chapters. I have so many creative juices flowing, just PM or review and tell me your thoughts. Bye-bye lovelys.**

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